I Love You
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: The I love you. Sometimes short and sweet, other's drawn out and passionate, but always tender.. Always with meaning. Shohn. Second in the Sapphire series.


They had been dating for six months. Six months and not a single "I love you".

It was just the start of winter. Christmas was coming up and so was their anniversary. And it was starting to bother John.

Sherlock wasn't a touchy-feely type of person. That had always been obvious. It wasn't like he kept the relationship a secret on purpose; it just didn't come naturally. Public display's of affection, John assumed, were never common in the Holmes household. But that behavior picked up even when they were alone. Sherlock wouldn't instigate any sort of touching or kissing, it was always John. And not once had he said I love you. Even when John said it to him all he really did was nod, and that sort-of smile would cross his face. Briefly.

John had asked, once. The younger man had just shrugged, saying he just wasn't ready yet.

And that, quite possibly, worried John more than anything. Was he doing something wrong? Was he being too pushy? Not pushy enough about the topic? Was it just something that would have to wait?

Two days before the anniversary, they had a fight. Not just a little lovers spat or a debate, but an actual fight. About those three little words, actually. Neither would ever be completely sure how it started, but they both knew how it ended. In a shouting match and hurtful words and Sherlock shouting something about leaving as he slammed the door to 221B.

One part of the argument played over and over in his head. Just before Sherlock had stormed out.

"_Why can't you just say it?_" John had yelled. _"Just tell me you love me!"_

"_Because that makes this real!" _Sherlock had screamed back. _"Now if you'll excuse me, _Doctor_-"_ And Sherlock hadn't called him that in private since they got together. _"-I'm leaving."_

And that had been that.

Now, he was just depressed. It was his own bloody fault, really. He'd brought up those three little words he'd never heard Sherlock say. And, if he remembered correctly, he'd been the one to start shouting too.

God, he was a git.

And what had that meant, anyway? "Because that makes this real"? Did Sherlock think of this like a game? Like the relationship was like one big toy that he didn't want to come to life? Or worse, did he think _John_ was faking? That he was toying with the detective's feelings like Moriarty. John was sure there were probably times he'd acted like that. Damn, it really was his own fault.

With an overly determines look in his eyes, john stood up, headed fir the door.

He may have screwed up, but that didn't mean he couldn't fix it.

{][][}

Sherlock shivered as he walked through the snowy streets of London. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea storming out right after a minor blizzard with another one on the way. That was jut idiotic. Then again, he hadn't really been thinking at the time. He'd just needed to get _out_.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, glaring out at the world in general. Why was it such a big deal? John knew he loved him. Why did he need to say it? It was just confirmation on what they both knew. There was no bloody point to it!

_I know why_, piped up that annoying little voice in his head that sounded far too much like Mycroft when they were children. _If you say it, that makes you vulnerable and weak, and you can't have that. And if John decides to up and leave and you've told him, that will just make it sting all the more, won't it? And we know what that's like. That little disappointment…_

He stopped his trail of thought right there, which wasn't as had as expected, and sat down at a snow covered bench in the walking park he'd inadvertently gone to. The same park he'd gone to with John on numerous occasions. Talking, laughing, and enjoying a good cuppa together as the weather got colder.

He huffed slightly, staring moodily at the frozen over duck pond in front of him. Was he so hopelessly infatuated (and he would _not_ say love) with john that his thought couldn't leave the man for two minutes.

"Sherlock!"

Speak of the devil.

Sherlock curled inward on himself, trying desperately to disappear into the snow.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock!" Why did John sound like that? Worried, caring. It wasn't a tone Sherlock was used to. From _anyone, really. "Please, I didn't mean it! Honestly, I'm fine if you're not ready yet, I do. Just come back."_

_Finally, the good doctor came into the area. He immediately ran over to Sherlock, a strong pair of arms wrapping quickly around the shivering form. "God, I'm sorry." He said, ignoring how Sherlock stiffened at the abrupt touch. "I'm fine if you need me to go slower or if you don't want to take it that far yet. I love you is a big commitment and I shouldn't have rushed in like I did." He pulled away, hazel eyes shinning with a sincerity that only John was fully capable of._

"_Forgive me?"_

_Sherlock gaped slightly, eyes wide. This was strange, uncharted territory for him. If anything he expected John to stay mad at him, maybe even go as far as breaking up. The furthest possibility in his mind was that John would apologize to him. And what for? A few hurtful words? Sherlock had endured far worse through his whole life._

"_You aren't mad at me?" He asked, cocking his head slightly to the left, and a few dark curls strayed to his face. John shook his head adamantly._

"_Of course not." He said, as though shocked by the thought. "I started it, anyway. If anything I thought you would be mad at me! Pushing you the way I did. I don't know why it bothered me so much. If actions speak louder than words that there should have been no reason, at all, for me to doubt that you love me." He frowned, pulling Sherlock back in to a hug. "You sure you're not mad?"_

_Slowly, ever so slowly, Sherlock wrapped his arms around the shorter man, nuzzling into soft blond hair._

"_I can't get mad at you." He said quietly, voice holding a slight hesitant note to it. "I love you."_


End file.
